


The 221B Joyride

by Dysnomiae



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Trespassing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-11
Updated: 2012-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-29 09:20:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dysnomiae/pseuds/Dysnomiae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim sends Seb to 221B with a camera. Seb has an on-running monologue as he films the boys' premises for the Boss. Gen; some implied Seb/Jim; Seb's mouth can be mildly offensive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The 221B Joyride

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by the [hacked entry in John's blog](http://www.johnwatsonblog.co.uk/blog/16amarch) where Moriarty films his own uninvited tour through 221B. If you're outside the UK, you can [view it on youtube or grab it here](http://kylara.livejournal.com/377717.html).
> 
> Written for [the prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/14213.html?thread=79747973#t79747973) by Archea2 on the Sherlock kink meme.

Upon receiving the much-anticipated e-mail from Seb, Jim giggled, got himself comfortable, and opened the attached video file. Sherlock Holmes' front door came into view, so close that the door took up the entire screen. Jim wanted to reach out and stroke his fingertips over the numbers.

Sebastian's annoyed voice didn't quite break the magic.

"So here I am. 221B. Looking like a tourist with a camera." Well, Jim would have to dub the audio. Obviously. The camera wavered as keys jangled offscreen. "This key better fucking work because if I have to stand out here with this camera for one more bloody second..."

The door opened. "Right. Never doubted you." He locked the door behind him on his way in. Seb sighed with heavy annoyance as he moved through the entry hall, as though this were the worst waste of time ever. Jim would need to find something for him to shoot later in appreciation. Shoot with a gun, not a camera.

"Here we go. For your safety, please keep your hands and arms to yourself and remain seated at all times."

Seb's reflection caught on a door on his left, and then again in a mirror on the right. He stopped at the mirror and filmed himself; he looked homicidally bored, and mouthed 'you owe me'. Jim would edit out the reflections later.

Seb moved on. "The landlady's out, but it smells like she's been baking. Apples. Cinnamon." Seb took the camera to peek into the kitchen, where a pie sat on the stove to cool. "I bet her cooking's better than yours." He sounded like he wanted to find out. "We should move in. 221C's still available."

The pie didn't look like anything special, but Seb somehow fit a stomach the size of a bus behind those six-packed abs. But Jim had specifically said not to tamper with anything, or move anything out of place. Seb, the well-disciplined military man, returned to the entry hall, leaving the kitchen and its apple pie untouched.

"Stairs!" Seb had all the thrill of watching paint dry. "Amazing, aren't they. Everything you hoped for." The steps creaked underfoot. "I thought you said he was stylish. Is 'old and falling apart' the new _in_?"

The first floor up, the camera got a full view of bamboo wallpaper just outside the sitting room. "Look, Jim, it's like I'm at your mother's house."

Jim chewed his lip and reconsidered letting him shoot anything for a while.

"Wow, what a mess. I see what you two have in common." That wasn't fair; being a military neat freak was _unnatural_. The camera moved toward the table by the windows, skimming the items scattered on top. "He also doesn't put the house phone back in the charger. You two would be very happy together."

If Jim didn't know any better, he'd think Seb was jealous.

He doesn't mind the jabs, since Seb has suddenly given him a clear eye-full of music notes. Sherlock's handwriting. It's beautiful. Jim pauses the video just long enough to take a screenshot. He'll look over it more closely later.

The camera moves over the shelves by the wall, with Seb commenting with boring, flat disdain. "Is that a calculator? They still make those?" "Your boy should use those dice for sex games. I've done that at a party a few times. Everyone loves it, since they can all pretend like it's not their fault for taking off clothes and licking each other. It'd help him loosen up, since you say he's such a prude. I'll teach you." "He has a _cassette tape_. He's a genius, he should know that century has _passed_." "Nice bison. He should mount one he killed himself. What is it about this guy, again?"

On the bookshelf, Seb reads off a few titles. _Not a Chimp: The Hunt to Find the Genes that Make Us Human_. _Oxford Desk Reference Clinical Genetics_. "What could he possibly need these for? These don't help detective work, unless he's looking for a clinical reason to justify killing stupid people. That'd be useful. I hope he shares it on his website, that's always a thrill. I've been captivated ever since his article on 250 thousand types of indistinguishable tobacco ash."

There's a knife driven through papers into the fireplace mantel. "I never found blank envelopes to be so rage-inducing, but maybe that's something else you have in common."

Seb likes the knife; he spends quite a while filming it, including a slow pan down. "You know," Seb says not casually at all, "I could use a new hunting knife. My collection needs to be refilled since I'm always disposing of evidence. I don't have enough birthdays in a year to balance the demands of your workload. Thought you should know, in case you were thinking of getting me anything nice in return for this _massive favor_."

Seb gets a good close-up of the skull. "This is almost as creepy as the time you kept that guy's head at our flat, and you let the flesh decay off it before sending it to your 'friend' as warning. Almost. Not quite, though."

There's some framed sketches on a shelf. "Wow. A drawing of feet. Did he do that himself? Did mummy frame it for him?" He sighs. "Jim, I'm seriously questioning your taste in other men. And your sanity over this one. But that's nothing new."

He walks around to the other side of the room, and spends over a full minute on a framed array of labeled bullets. Jim presses fast forward the moment they come into view.

Seb moves on to the other side of the table. "How smart is this guy if he doesn't even solve his sudoku cube?" Jim senses John's fumbling interest in the thing more than Sherlock's laziness.

There's a great moment when Seb's shadow falls on the adjacent wall, and Jim thinks he'll end with that.

"That's it then. We hope you've enjoyed the ride. Please come again to 221B Baker Street. We're available all day, every day, for all your stalking needs. I want to go someplace nice for a vacation this year; someplace warm, that isn't a third world hell hole."

Jim already has the video file opened in an editor. He'll find a way to thank Seb later, and punish him for that mouth of his.


End file.
